No Need to Rush
by The Midnight Serenade
Summary: Lucy likes Lorcan. Lorcan likes Lucy. They needed something to push them together, and this just might be it. M for content.


Lucy Weasley stepped out of the shower, shivering slightly as the cold air hit her skin. She took some time admiring her pink nipples and delicious, shaved pussy in the floor-length mirror. Then she reached for her towel. Her fingers caught thin air.

Lucy looked around herself suspiciously. There wasn't a thing in the prefect's bathroom—all the cabinets, all the closets, everything had been stripped bare. Her wand had been taken too. Only her charm bracelet lay on the marble counter, and that wasn't anything she could cover up her shame with. The _L_ charm winked mockingly up at her—_wait a second_. Lucy looked at the bracelet again. Yes, it was the one Lorcan Scamander had given her as a joke for Christmas a few months ago. He had said that it matched both of their initials, and that he'd be more than happy to give her an _S _charm as well so they could match there too, should the need arise. She ground her teeth and sighed. There was no doubt about who had done this now.

"SCAMANDER!" she yelled. In the mirror, a flash of dirty blonde hair whipped by, and loud sniggering followed. Lucy cursed, knowing he could see her and her body, and was no doubt thinking twisted thoughts about her.

"Scamander, what do you want?" Lucy demanded of the air. There was no response. A few moments later, though, a small towel and a dark purple set of lingering appeared before her. She raised her eyebrows, then shrugged and started pulling the items off the plastic board. If this was the way he wanted to play...

First, she dried off herself with the towel. Experimentally, she tried wrapping it around her chest, but her breasts proved too big, and the ends of the towel reached only a few inches beyond her nipples.

"Don't do that, Luce," Lorcan's drawling tone said. "That's what the other stuff is for. Besides, that towel barely does your assets justice."

Lucy cursed again. Her suspicions about the workings of his brain were right. She started on the lingerie. She put on the thin, black thong first. It was soaked in an instant; somehow, Lorcan Scamander had always turned her on more than anything else. She struggled a bit with the stockings and the garter belt, but managed fine in the end. There was a tiny miniskirt too, and she put that on over the garter belt. And then, the bra. Lucy ran her hands over the satin fabric—there were no cups, only a cottony material, like those of training bras. She slipped it on, an uncomfortable tightness filling her chest. She looked in the mirror again and found the problem: her breasts were suffocating in the tiny bra. But the good thing is, they looked bigger and juicier than ever. Her arse looked nice and round, peeking out beneath the scrap of a skirt. Her stomach was tanned and flat, thanks to a lifetime of dieting and harsh exercise regimes. She did _not_ want to end up looking like Grandmum Molly when she grew up. And her breasts looked fabulous, if she might say so herself. The nipples were standing straight up, the nubs visible through the thin cloth. She arranged her wet hair as best as she could and waited.

Lorcan strode in leisurely. He took his time, hands in his pockets and whistling. His eyes were trained on her body, and Lucy fought down the urge to throw an arm across her chest. Instead, she struck a sultry pose, teasing him like the naughty girl that no one can deny she was. He raised a cool eyebrow, but his already-dark eyes darkened a bit more.

"Hello, Lucy," he purred in her ear. He slid her body close to his, backing her towards the wall inch by inch. Finally, she was cornered, just the way he liked.

"It's a fine night, isn't it?" he continued. "And you're a fine girl. And you know what they say about those girls..."

"What do they say?" Lucy asked. She felt very small, with one of his hands holding her and the other exploring her back.

"They say," he said, "that those girls deserve a fine boy."

She snorted. "And I presume that you're here to help me with that?"

"Oh, don't pretend you don't like me, Weasley," he said. A hand slid between her legs and felt the wetness there. She sucked in a breath. "See? You like me all right, and you like me _very_ much."

"What are you trying to say?" Lucy asked. The icy mask she had worn for her entire life was dangerously close to slipping, the way he was touching her womanly parts.

"What am I trying to say?" he wondered. "Well, I'm rather certain that I like you, and I want you. And I have no doubt that you feel exactly the same way."

"Well, you're right," she whispered. He stopped stroking her stomach in surprise. "I do like you, and I do want you. Very, _very_ much."

"Good, good," he said casually. "At least now your family won't think I raped you."

"Good," she said as well. Then she kissed him, a hard, searing kiss. His lips were like steel, pressing against hers with force and power. She did not yield, however. Weasleys weren't known to do that. She pressed back with just as much vigor. He took that as an invitation and entered his tongue into her mouth. There, they danced together, a fiery routine, a battle of wills.

Lorcan raised his hands to her chest, massaging her breasts. Lucy moaned softly as his hands worked at the fleshy mounds. _Her_ hands pulled his shirt above his head, and then continued the kiss. Her bra soon joined his shirt, as did everything else save the miniskirt. Lucy liked the feel of cool air on her nether regions, and she had a feeling it was driving Lorcan insane.

Their heated first kiss ended gently. Lucy was positively dripping with musky juices, her breasts aching from Lorcan's rough administrations. They gazed into each other's eyes. There was no weakness in either pair, only desire and something more.

"You've wanted that for a while now, haven't you?" Lorcan asked. He raised her up and let wrap her legs around his waist.

"Haven't you?" she shot back. She pinched her nipples, taking pleasure in the pain and the hungry look that rose in her lover's eyes.

"Oh, Lucy," he whispered. "You're a dirty little Weasley."

"Mmm," she agreed, feeling the muscles on his chest and arms. "And you're not exactly too clean yourself."

"That I am not," he said. He set her down, his eye traveling down her body. Merlin, she was beautiful. Her legs were long and lean, leading to slender but curvy hips. She had an hourglass figure, ample breasts a stark contrast to her tiny waist. Her flaming Weasley hair matched her temper, something Lorcan found indescribably sexy. Add that to her wit, her snarky sarcasm, and everything else, she was indeed beautiful.

He kissed her again, slamming her against the wall. This time, the miniskirt came off too. Only was she fully naked and wet did he stop. Their lips parted softly, lingering on each other. Lucy was breathing heavily. A thin layer of sweat covered her breasts. Her pussy was hot like there was no tomorrow. And he was oh-_so_-aroused by that image.

Lorcan swung her up into his arms. "That was nice foreplay," he growled. "But we're taking a little trip now."

Lucy kissed him as they made their way to the Room of Requirement. There, a large bed awaited. He set her on the bed. She sat up and pulled him down with her. Tracing a finger across his huge erection, she kissed him yet again. She wanted him to slow down—they had a lifetime in front of them. Lorcan seemed to recognize her meaning and kissed her back. There was, after all, no need to rush when you're utterly and completely in love.


End file.
